A key difference between myself & Mom was that
where she sought comfort, I sought clarity.
Comfort was often buffered with soft-lens obfuscation, while clarity
was often accompanied with discomfort, even pain. Mom shunned disquieting clarity, while I
flee from reality-fudging comfort.
Pretty interesting twosome for the Universe to pair up
for almost 50 years. Yet somehow we
survived each other, even grew from the challenges presented by the other. I was her goad to a more wholesome, accepting view of herself, while she provided the friction that turned into my current pearl of a life.
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